


Better To Have Lucked And Lost

by Not_A_Valid_Opinion



Series: What's Luck Got To Do With It [2]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Episode: s01e06 The House of the Lucky Gander!, Gen, House of Fortune, from previous part in series though you dont have to read that to understand this, reference to suicide attempt, takes place before during and after that episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-19 07:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22007584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_A_Valid_Opinion/pseuds/Not_A_Valid_Opinion
Summary: Huey tugs at the edge of his coat, dragging his attention back to the family of ducks around him. He lets out a hum at the kid, who stares at the empty space where the casino once was back at him and asks curiously, “so, how long were you trapped in there, then? If the entire place was feeding off of your luck, I can only imagine it gets bigger and busier the longer you stayed, and it was already quite large when we got there.”Gladstone’s hand tightens around his tie.Trapped in Toad Liu Hai's casino, Gladstone figures out that calling Donald might be the only way to escape. A look into the episode The House Of The Lucky Gander! and the events leading up to it, as well as a slight change to what happens after.
Relationships: Donald Duck & Gladstone Gander, Gladstone Gander & Scrooge McDuck, Liu Hai & Gladstone Gander, Louie Duck & Gladstone Gander, Toad Liu Hai & Gladstone Gander
Series: What's Luck Got To Do With It [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584100
Comments: 13
Kudos: 200
Collections: Finished111





	Better To Have Lucked And Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey hey! Back at it again with the self-indulgent Gladstone fics. I remember shitting on Ducktales with some friends at lunch before I had actually seen it, and then getting into it and posting art for it on my insta, and one of my friends from that lunch commented on one of my Gladstone drawings and said "I guess you like Ducktales now" and fellas it fucking knocked the air out of me.  
> Anyway here's an episode study bc I loved this episode a whole lot and Gladstone really just be like "ah whoops! looks like I've been kidnapped and enslaved. Time to foil Donald" and that shit hit me

Gladstone was made of luck. 

It was something he accepted easily, including the consequences at its side. Luck loved him, even when he didn’t love him- something he lost the strength to do somewhere along the way, once he realized what he had wasn’t what was important enough to keep. 

Family, to Gladstone, made it a little bit easier. He thinks friends would similar this fact, but he never quite made any that stuck around for anything more than what he could give. Sure, maybe he could avoid the puddles he never wanted to step in, but he ended up lonelier than he could ever imagine, could always imagine, because he’d never known any different. 

“Oh, you’re so lucky,” someone would snap, someone Gladstone found irrelevant, because the tone of jealousy and anger could never be placed to just one face. 

“I know. Don’t you just hate me?” Gladstone got used to responding, fully aware of his impact, fully aware of his own snide, comfortable tone of smug pride for what he doesn’t have. 

Things got easier. It wasn’t something Gladstone ever expected, but it was true- Donald became a constant in his life, someone who texted him on holidays once they’d talked themselves out, once it was almost too late. His cousin let him babysit sometimes- the three little triplets, Huey, Dewey, and Louie, all of which were menaces to deal with in their own ways and whom Gladstone felt honoured to get to spend time with. 

They didn’t see each other often. Donald still didn’t like him, that much was clear- he had to be careful not to topple any lines Donald had drawn, for sometimes the kids would say things- mainly Louie, the little brat (said lovingly)- that would make Donald clearly upset. 

“You’re my favourite uncle;” for instance. Donald looked incredibly upset when the little green one said this, clinging to him and looking about to cry when Gladstone had to peel him off to excuse himself. He stayed in touch, but he didn’t want to make Donald regret including him in his life, so he distanced himself. 

He had Fethry, still. He always had Fethry, it was just that the guy was hard to get in touch with, seeing how he worked in an underwater facility. Before he went down there, Gladstone got to spend a Christmas with him, in which they sat back and watched dumb movies and Gladstone joked about how the situations could never apply to him and Fethry responded with knowledge on how it wouldn’t apply to anybody because the movies made no sense and that's whats fun about them. It was a great Christmas. 

He tried to call Scrooge once. Well, he didn’t try- he did. The old coot had answered. 

“Hey Uncle Scrooge!” he’d hooted into the phone. 

“... Lad. What can I do ya for?” 

“Just wanted to see how you were! We haven’t talked in a long while.” 

“Ay,” Scrooge agreed. That was all he said on that matter, but Gladstone pushed forwards. 

“Ay ay!” he mocks, pulling at the hem of his dress shirt. He laughs awkwardly. “Well, this was just a greeting call, I suppose.” 

He’s hoping Scrooge will say something more than what he lands on, a quick, “nice to hear from ya, I suppose,” but it's all he manages, and it was all Gladstone was expecting. He hangs up after that, unsure of what else he’d expected or what else he could say to it. 

The same path is repeated down the line of other cousins. Gus and Abner both pick up the phone and end the conversation within minutes. Gladstone doesn’t have the heart to keep anybody on the line longer than they could tolerate. 

Donald, when he calls, always answers with a careful _what’s up_ that really means _what’s wrong,_ and once the answer is apparent, (“just wanted to say hi!”) Donald usually invites him over or stays on the line if he’s not busy. Sometimes he even passes the phone over to the kids. 

It was nice. 

They texted now. They called sometimes. That wasn’t a lot, but that was enough. 

Still, Gladstone needed more. He couldn’t keep relying on Donald and his kids to make him feel included, as his therapist (whom he was forced to see, but eventually started going past the recommended appointments because he liked the guy and liked ranting about his life freely, too) had recommended. 

Dr. Double-MFB, which stood for Make Me Feel Better, who was actually named something else entirely but Gladstone liked his name for him much better, had told him he needed to branch out and put himself in a better perspective of the world by seeing more of it. It wasn’t like he’d never travelled, but he’d never done it with the goal to humble himself, and the idea was interesting. He always liked to travel, and after everything, the thought of staying in place felt almost suffocating. 

It was easier now that Donald was keeping in touch with him. Donald didn’t text him first, but he’d respond when Gladstone did- something he used to be too much of a coward to do that was now something he feels honoured to be allowed. His cocky attitude hadn’t been drenched- it had been too carefully slipped into all his life, it was far too late to drop it now. A text here and there, “look, Spain!” with a selfie and some conveniently gorgeous lighting, and Donald’s clipped responses, “looks nice”, “Wow”, “Neat” that just screamed _I’m trying to show I’m here for you and keeping in touch with you but you’re being an ass,_ and Gladstone holds those texts close to his heart. 

Having Donald reach out to him meant that he could travel and still keep them close, and Gladstone utilizes the opportunity. It was easy to get into hotels for free, just as it was easy to travel when he was lucky enough to manage a swing at a private jet, which he could certainly afford, and then buy someone to fly it for him, which he could certainly not do on his own. What if it crashed and hit someone else? He wasn’t Della. He couldn’t fly, or even get the attempt in (too much work, really). 

He can’t fly, but he thinks somehow he must have managed to get too close to the sun. 

He goes around the world. He only knows English, but manages to get around quite easily, all things considered. The triplets are eleven when he ends up in East Asia, a gorgeous place that Dr. Double-MFB would be proud to hear he was investing quite a lot of money into hospital donations for, just to give his money some place to go. Gladstone had always been easy with giving his money away, as he never actually had any reason to keep what he had and never cared enough to become rich. Donating the money to big-wigs like hospitals under unanimous notices was a therapeutic suggestion to make him feel better when a twenty drops out of the sky to land on his bill, so that when people glared his way, he wouldn’t feel so much _hated_ as grateful for the cash, which he’d then put back into the community. He quite liked the idea of becoming a luck philanthropist, and to the Doctor’s credit, it _did_ make it easier. 

Although, sometimes, people don’t glare. Sometimes they’ll congratulate him without a shred of sarcasm to their voice. 

Sometimes, as in just the once, in East Asia. A toad watches him pick up a twenty he found on the floor and points out that it’s a lucky find- Gladstone shrugs and hands it to him, telling him he doesn’t need it, that he finds them all the time. It was rare to find such an open tone on someone when his luck was struck, and Gladstone figured the guy could use the money. He had a cane that looked about to splinter at any moment, and though he didn’t look much older than Gladstone himself, the toad’s clothes hung far too large on him, large bags strung under his eyes. 

“Is that so?” says the toad, then coughs abruptly. Gladstone wonders if maybe _he_ should be in a hospital. “You must be quite lucky to stumble upon such fortune.” 

Gladstone laughs. It was nice being somewhere that wasn’t America, where nobody knew him for his wealth, luck, or relation to Scrooge McDuck. “You don’t know the half of it, buddy.” 

The toad sniffles, a long sound, and Gladstone is still waiting for him to take the twenty out of his hand so he waits patiently for him to stop inhaling weirdly. Maybe he had allergies. Was he allergic to geese? Or ducks, even? Not for the first time, Gladstone wonders which one he takes after most. 

The toad stops. He takes the twenty. “Would you like to grab some food? There’s a lovely place just around the corner. Best brisket the world could offer. If we’re lucky, it won’t be so busy.” 

It was noon, and the streets were bustling despite the harsh winds bouncing off the walls around them. If anything, it’d be packed. But Gladstone was nothing if not someone who drifted through life- something that he thought of as a lack of drive on his own future and his own ability to exist and choose how, but really, his stomach was growling and he figures, _why not?-_ and so he smiles and nods. Sure, there was a chance the toad only wanted to hang out with him because he’d just seen he was lucky, but Gladstone was used to that. His stomach gurgled just at the thought of food, and the guy _seemed_ nice enough. 

So, they go. And, to his luck, the diner isn’t too busy at all. They eat together at a nice booth situated perfectly in the sunlight, casting warmth on them both which was much needed, due to the cold winds of winter outside. Sure, it wasn’t nearly as bad in Macaw as it was other places- that alone was part of the reason he chose it to begin with. Liu Hai’s coat looks far to lax on him even for the not-terrible-not-enjoyable temperature, and Gladstone’s own puffy yet stylish overcoat seemed almost unfair in comparison. 

Liu Hai- the toad- tells him about his job as a travelling salesman. How he goes from place to place pitching to whoever he can find in any language he knows (more than twelve, he brags, including one made of hands. Gladstone assumes that means some kind of sign language, but doesn’t know any language besides his common tongue so he can’t really comment). Though, if Gladstone had to guess, business must not be so good this time of year. He’s not sure what Liu Hai sells, but judging from how pale he is and how often he’s coughing through his words, he must not be getting as many sales as he says. 

“Well?” Gladstone prompts, popping a breadstick in his mouth and deciding to entertain the frog. “You’ve got me seated in a nice booth with good food. I’m pitch ready,” he notes, assuming this is maybe why the frog had asked him out to food to begin with, based on his story. 

Liu Hai shakes his head. “I do not pitch to friends.” 

Gladstone raises an eyebrow. He tries to keep the intrigue at the genuine-sounding response out of his own voice, but must not succeed. “Oh?” 

He smiles. “You sound surprised. Are you from a place not so friendly?” 

“Ah, _ya._ America. You really have to earn friendship there,” he chuckles. That was true for everyone, from what he knew, but certainly more so for himself. “But, you’re very kind. And this is a lovely establishment.” 

He smiles kindly. “Well, here in Macaw, we offer you an extended, complimentary stay. I am a salesman, but my family runs a casino not too far from here called The House Of Fortune. Please, stay the night. It offers the best of accommodations.” 

It takes him a moment, but Gladstone smiles, too. He agrees, because he was just going to wander around until he found a hotel, anyway. Liu Hai looks as though he’d just given him the world, somehow, and Gladstone tries not to think too much of it because different cultures meant different reactions to different things. A waiter comes by to take their plates, and then asks them if they’d like a free cake as the baker had made one on accident. Gladstone had no idea how that happens on accident, but he asks if Liu Hai would like it, who nods. So, they get a free cake. Then, apparently, the baker has also paid for their meal because he was so happy that they took the cake and it didn’t go to waste. 

The smile Liu Hai wears made his luck a bit more worth it, he thinks. 

(Gladstone offers his coat to the toad as they walk, and he declines, telling Gladstone it’s not too far a walk and he’ll be more than warm soon enough). 

  
  


The casino is gorgeous. Truly, it is- though, it’s… smaller than he’d expected. Casinos in America were usually at least two or three stories, at least in his experience. He’d never seen one built to the floor like a motel. Still, it was lit up beautifully and there were numerous tricks and tries to play at, which Liu Hai invited him to do, offering his own money and starting with the twenty from earlier, which Gladstone finds genuinely entertaining and can’t say no to, though he does play on his own cash. 

He’s excited to play with somebody he knew. At least if he won too much, he could assume Liu Hai wouldn’t beat him up and physically toss him out, accusing him of cheating or just fed up with his air-tight winnings. Liu Hai was very kind, offering him things instead of expecting them and somehow looking happier when he offered, instead, his own. 

He wins a lot. Liu Hai looks somehow like he won the most. 

“Hey, your cough seems to have gotten a bit better,” Gladstone can't help but note as he cashes out his winnings. Liu Hai blinks, then flushes. 

“Ah… yes, well, it comes and goes,” he explains sheepishly, then changes the subject, something Gladstone notes with a raised eyebrow but says nothing of. 

Eventually, he turns in for the night. The room he’s shown to is clean and smells like lavender, and looks like nobody has been there before. Great roomkeepers, then. He’d leave a big tip. 

He gets up in the morning, and Liu Hai is right outside his bedroom the moment he swings it open. 

“Good morning, Mr. Gander,” he says pleasantly. “How are you enjoying your stay?” 

“Uhhh… It’s nice. The bed was. Very soft,” he says dumbly. Liu Hai smiles. It’s different from the one he had on yesterday. Immediately, Gladstone realizes he’d never told him his last name, isn’t even sure if he’d told him his first name. 

He feels like he’d just lost at something. 

“There's a breakfast buffet downstairs. All your favourite foods are there.” 

He thinks for a moment. Maybe he was overreacting. Something felt off, but it could just be him. Perhaps the brisket he had the other day hadn’t settled with him, and he was overthinking. 

“Did I tell you my favorite foods?” he asks, trying not to sound too baffled. 

“No, but it is my job to understand others. I know what you like,” he explains. Gladstone arches an eyebrow, a signature look of are-you-sure-about-that, but Liu Hai doesn’t falter. 

_Weird guy,_ Gladstone thinks to himself. He straightens out his overcoat and nods, unsure of how else to respond, and the toad takes this as affirmation and turns down the hallway, gesturing for him to follow. 

Gladstone closes the door behind him, and once the frog’s back is turned, he releases the comforting smile he had on last night and plastered on this morning. Something felt really off, and it certainly wasn’t in any way he was used to feeling. 

It felt… unlucky. There was a sour taste to his tongue, and he couldn’t place what it was from. 

The buffet is exactly as big as he’d have guessed, based on the pride in Liu Hai’s voice. He eats, and it's honestly really good- he can’t help but abandon any weird feeling he had, as Liu Hai is back to joking around with him and telling him about the casino and how it was under construction and would only grow from here. His voice was exceptionally clear of any phlegm or sniffles, and whatever he seemed to be sick with prior seems to have passed on. He looks a bit healthier, too, and Gladstone wonders if the change in atmosphere was just attested to his varying symptoms. 

Gladstone had never been sick before. Who was he to know? 

They play more reward-based games for the night. Liu Hai plays with him again, and perhaps that's the best part. He wins, and wins, and wins. 

He gets tired rather quickly. Liu Hai asks for another round, but he tells him he’s calling it a night. 

“Rest well, Goose. In the morning we’ll play some more.” 

“Ah… well, I can’t stay forever. I think tomorrow I’ll be heading back to America. Unfinished business, yano?” 

Liu Hai smiles. “Of course. I’d wish you the best of luck in your ventures, but it’s clear you have more than enough.” 

Gladstone frowns, wondering how he should read a comment like that, but before he can say anything he’s being guided to his room, Liu Hai’s hand on his back, stronger now that he’d somewhere along the way lost the need for the cane the Gander can’t help but note he no longer has. 

Gladstone is exhausted without need, and doesn’t sleep well that night. 

Or the night after, when he cannot find the exit and Liu Hai will not guide him but only goad him to play some more, and he’s forced to spend another night, and another after that.

Gladstone tries not to be angry, but he is. He’s _lucky._ He should be able to be at the exit without breaking a sweat, but there _isn’t an exit._ There can’t be, or he’d have found it by now. But he came in through a door, so where was it? It can’t have disappeared. The House Of Fortune was one floor!

… wasn’t it? 

The realization that there was an elevator that he hadn’t recalled seeing previously sitting still against the wall nearly made Gladstone fall over, but Gladstone doesn’t fall over, and instead just stares at it. 

“I thought…” he says to himself. Liu Hai laughs. 

The sound isn’t humorous at all. Gladstone clenches his fists tight.

He tries to stay positive. He can text Donald, just for reassurance, just to stay calm. 

He has no signal. Frustrated, he veers away from Liu Hai, right up to another guest. 

“Ma’am, sorry to bother you, but may I borrow your phone, I don’t seem to have service on mine,” he asks the beagle in front of him, who stares at the phone he’s waving in her face in what a lesser man would call an erratic motion, but Gladstone would calmly refer to as a way to emphasize his point. She blinks at him, then says, “Sorry, I don’t have service either,” and walks away. 

Liu Hai is at his now empty side. “Yes, this location is bad for that. I will get it fixed soon.” 

Gladstone does everything in his power not to throttle the toad, and says through clenched teeth, “okay, what is the deal? Why can’t I leave? Look, I like you as a friend, but I just don’t think I’m good on commitment or in a place where I can handle being in a relationship, so if this is about personal feelings-” 

“It’s not,” Liu Hai says, scrunching his face. “Ah, guess I’ll tell you then, my little Luck Charm. You won't be leaving this fine establishment. You’ll be helping me expand it by staying here. You see, I’m a Luck Vampire of sorts, and you-” he licks his lips, “-are delicious, Goose.” 

Gladstone doesn’t leave. He can’t. He tries- follows other guests around, waiting for them to leave so he can find the exit, only to find out he’s literally chained to the place; bugs more guests about getting help, asking some to call the police, asking another to get back Scrooge McDuck and tell him his beloved nephew Donald was trapped in Macaw, East Asia (Donald, because why would he come for Gladstone?) only for nobody to come; tries to get to the roof and scale down the building only to find it is somehow, suddenly, over three stories tall and in no way scalable (unless he jumped, which- no)- but he can’t escape. He’s trapped, and there’s nothing he can do. 

He’s too tired. 

Liu Hai tells him that the process of siphoning his luck is usually enough to kill whoever he feeds off of, but since Gladstone has so much of it, he’s able to hold on. That he’ll get used to the feeling of being drained all day and night, and be able to function no matter of it. He’ll get used to the constantly expanding casino, to playing games all day and night and winning them all (no matter how much it hurt to do so, to know even now he’s being used for his luck), even to the chain around his foot that keeps him in place and follows him around the hotel to keep him from leaving, even once he finds the exit. It’s invisible, but it's cold and heavy and despite its chill, he feels it like it’s burning his ankle. 

Liu Hai assures him that it isn’t. It doesn't convince him at all.

He tries to flip his luck. To lose on purpose. To get really drunk, just to see if it would mess up his luck. 

He can’t lose on purpose. He already knew that getting drunk never stopped his luck, and it certainly did no different here. 

And with no way to contact the outside world, he can’t get word out to anybody that he’s trapped- _enslaved-_ in fucking East Asia by a magic toad. 

He isn’t sure who he’d tell, anyway. He thinks of Donald’s _please, call me again, if you ever need anything._ He thinks, and then he thinks. 

It’s his luck that Liu Hai wants. Donald has only bad luck. Maybe if Donald came, he actually _would_ be able to help. 

He couldn’t stay trapped here forever. Liu Hai had told him with his luck, he could feast off of it for hundreds of years and stay stronger and get only stronger. That meant Gladstone would have to stay alive for that time, which meant something Gladstone did _not_ want to think about. How a few years ago, and on those bad nights with nothing left to do, he’d wanted nothing more but to die. And now, he’ll live forever- trapped within casino walls that got wider and taller the longer he stayed, which was who knows how long by this point. There wasn’t really a night-and-day situation he could make sense of anymore. The casino clocks contradicted themselves, and he slept so often he’d gotten turned around on how the world spun. 

Was it irony? A question for Dr. Double-MFB, who thought he was still out travelling, and likely wouldn’t be concerned he wasn’t booking more appointments. Would his house bills mind? Would Donald notice? Would anybody?

Would they care? 

(He thinks of the phone call. Of the concern in Donald’s voice, and how he’d been there to pick up the pieces, even when he could have just gone back to sleep and forgotten the whole thing. How Donald was family, and his kids were family, and Fethry was family, and how he wanted to see them all again. How maybe they’d want to see him again, too.) 

So, he makes up his mind. He needs Donald, needs his bad luck and needs a way to contact him. 

He tests something as they sit at one of the many bars present throughout the building, unsure of what he can do if this doesn’t work. He puts on his best pouting face as he stares down emotionally at his Sex On The Beach, slumped over on his barstool like there was little to hold him up to begin with. 

He’s not sure how much of it is an act. 

“Yano, luck kinda runs in the Duck half of my family. My cousin Donald used to always wave his luck in my face. He-” he tries to sound sad, and Liu Hai watches him curiously as he rubs at the edge of his bill, “he hasn’t seen me in a while. I just never felt like I was good enough to be around him.” 

The frog thinks about this for a while. “Your cousin… he is luckier than you?” 

Gladstone leans his head on his fists, elbows hunched over on the bar counter. “I might be the luckiest goose in the world, but he’s the luckiest duck, hands down. I miss the guy. I guess… if I’m stuck here, I’ll never be able to see him again.” 

Liu Hai hands him a phone with no hesitation. “Call him down!” he says in excitement. “I need to keep you healthy and happy, of course. If seeing this _lucky_ duck will make that happen-,” he licks his lips, and the room feels a little colder, “-by all means, invite him over!” 

His voice goes hard for a moment. “So long as you do not tell him you are my prisoner, he is allowed to come and stay as long as he likes.” 

Gladstone’s eyes shine. “Really?” 

“Of course!” 

Just as soon as he takes the phone does he hand it back. “... No. No, he- he won't want to see me. He said to never call unless I need help.” 

The frog puts his own drink down, then starts to flip the returned phone around in his hand. “Ah… I see. Who would want to see you for fun?” 

Gladstone bristles, but has the sense to nod pensively. Liu Hai ruffles his head feathers and cooes sympathetically, and Gladstone has gotten used to not flinching when he suddenly reaches an arm out for a hug or a pat, something he tended to do unfortunately often. Gladstone pushes down his discomfort as the ruffle turns to a stroke as Liu Hai pets his hair, lost in his own thoughts. 

Since Liu Hai locked him up, he’d started to look much, much healthier. His skin turned a bluish-green, vibrant and filled with life, almost a glow to him. He was bigger, too, and his voice was now gratingly loud and strong in each word. He was everyone, something Gladstone came to learn on his own- he was the bartender right ahead of them, the guests he’d followed to the exit, the beagle he’d asked to borrow a phone from. Everything about this hotel _was_ Liu Hai, and everything that didn’t breath was part of his mind’s image. Liu Hai showed him his magic in the form of a card trick at one point, and it was enough for Gladstone to put two and two together. 

Gladstone didn’t look how he felt. He ate less than he ever had, even when he was near the point of ending everything, but he didn’t look a smidgen skinnier. There were no bags under his eyes, though he was exhausted beyond all merits. 

Liu Hai was using his magic to keep his feathers shiny and his suits pressed. As he holds him, his large hand stroking through his feathers in a way that should be calming but could never achieve anything of the sort, Gladstone finds himself reminded of this fact. 

“... Then you may tell him you need help,” he says eventually, releasing Gladstone, who pushes himself far up on his own bar stool. “Say not for what. When he gets here, say a lie. You will not tell him what is happening here, or I will enslave him by your side,” he says, voice cheerful and phone extended once more. 

Gladstone knows that, if he thinks Donald is really as lucky as he’s making him out to be, he’ll enslave his cousin either way. But he’s _not_ lucky. He’s Donald, and he’s all Gladstone has got, and all he’s got up his sleeve. So, he pretends to think despite his mind being well made up and nods after a long moment. 

He doesn’t remember his number. Who remembers numbers these days? He types in random digits on Liu Hai’s ridiculously warm phone, knowing that with his luck, it’ll be Donald who answers. 

His luck is always on point. “Hello?” 

“Donnie!” He greets, his voice bright. 

There's a thud on the line. “Gladstone! Are you-” 

“Right as rain, Cuz! Although, I am in a bit of a tiz. I could use some help. How fast can you get down to East Asia- uh, in Macaw? I’ll pay the travel expenses!” 

There's no hesitation. “Are you safe?” 

Gladstone looks anywhere but at the frog watching him with a tight smile. “Yes, I’m safe. I just need some help.” 

“With what?” 

Gladstone grits his teeth. He laughs into the line. He doesn’t answer. 

Donald is smart, Gladstone will always give him credit for that. He takes only a moment before he answers. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Oh, the kids… can I bring the boys? And Uncle Scrooge?” 

_Uncle Scrooge?_

The thought of the old duck has him slightly hesitant. Last he knew of it, he and Donald had been fighting- something to do with Della, something neither would talk about. Even if they were getting along now, Scrooge tolerated him in a way only family could, but he knew if they weren’t related that the duck would still have found someway to disown him.

Still. The relief that fills him to hear they’re coming, and that the boys were still in plural, not that he doubted Donald’s parenting for a second- wins out. “Of course! Family reunion. Uh,” he shifts the phone. He whispers to Liu Hai, “Hey, can underage kids come in here? Donald wants to bring our uncle and his kids,” he tilts his head to the vodka spritzer the frog has in his glass. Liu Hai’s eyes narrow. 

“Are they lucky?” 

At that, Gladstone can’t help but laugh, hand still over the receiver. “Oh, I might not have mentioned. My uncle is Scrooge McDuck. You know, the richest duck in the world?” 

Scrooge would kill him if he knew he was selling all of his hard-earned efforts to get rich the honest, painstaking way through hundreds of years of labor and investments as merely luck. That wasn’t luck- that was _effort_. It was everything more admirable than how Gladstone came to anything worth keeping, money included. 

Sometimes he wished he could try. The way Scrooge did- try to be good at something, be good at it, be great at it, be the best at it. Gladstone’s luck fell apart whenever he tried to do anything the way Scrooge would, and he didn't have a choice in his luck saving him the need to try at it anyway. 

Faintly, he recalls once, as a young duckling, building a sandcastle that kept falling apart. He’d really tried- his parents had even given him buckets and shovels. It never managed to stay up, no matter what he did, until he got upset and decided to kick the ground. The sand landed in a lovely formation he hadn’t intended upon, but was something he was exceptionally proud of anyway, as were his parents. He knows now he just got lucky with the way the sand landed. It never worked to try at it, because if it was something that was going to happen, he’d simply be lucky enough for it to happen, and it would. 

Scrooge was a man that Gladstone respected greatly, but also resented. He never tried to understand and tended to downplay what he goes through as simply a bump in the road for himself, not giving a care to how it felt to Gladstone. Sure, there were bigger issues out there, he wasn’t so self-involved as to ignore or discredit that. 

But his problems were real, too. 

He could thank Dr. Double-MFB for that little insight. 

Liu Hai thinks for a moment before he nods, and Gladstone says into the receiver, “no problem at all, Cuz.” 

He gives the address. If Donald thinks it weird he’s all the way in Macaw, he says nothing. They hang up the phone with plans to meet asap, and Donald promises to call once they’ve arrived. 

(“Uh, call this number, not my own. I lost my phone. Borrowing a… friends’, right now.” 

“You lost your phone? That doesn’t sound like you.” 

“Dunno what to tell ya, Donnie.”) 

After that, he waits. He’s gotten used to the feeling of something constantly draining him, though he still wasn’t sure exactly how he was still standing with Liu Hai constantly going on and on about those who have died days or weeks into the process of his siphoning their luck and ingesting it to create the casino that now stood on top of itself. His left leg drags more than the right, still feeling the pressure of an invisible and silent chain the vampire toad insisted he shouldn’t be able to even know was there. 

He waits as patiently as he can, but Liu Hai is constantly around his shoulders, constantly holding the weight of the world he’s lost the right to see above his head. The frog was no longer the nice old man on the street who’d offered him a meal his luck had pain for. 

He was a jerk. A luck-sucking, vampire of a jerk who never gave Gladstone a moment of peace. Not even to sleep- no, he thought he at least had the nights to himself, but in the morning Liu Hai would asked why he had so much trouble sleeping- or why he slept so much, as he could never quite balance the two even before The House Of Fortune- despite Gladstone going out of his way to not mention it. 

Liu Hai creeped him out in a way he was getting used to, becoming resigned to. The way he’d lick his lips when Gladstone’s luck shines. The way he called him pet names- Goose, Treat, Champion, Luck Charm, even flat out Delicacy one time- it made Gladstone’s stomach churn, and he was starting to wonder if he’d forget his real name at this point. If he ever managed to find someone and not die alone, pet names were totally off the table. 

Some part of him, along the way, had started to wonder if this is what it would have felt like if he’d succeeded that night on the bridge. If he never got to see the trees or the sky or a crying kid in a stroller pass him by on the street again. If he never got to feel a cold breeze, or the violent touch of the gentlest of rains, ever again. If he never got to see his family again, even after everything he’d put them through. 

Maybe this wasn’t what death felt like, but loss. Maybe this was the worst of them all, and maybe it wasn’t. He couldn’t compare it to death. He’d never died- comas don’t count, he reasons to himself. 

Gladstone didn’t want to die. He thinks, he did once- he did then, back when that was all he could think to do, run down to the earth by his luck and reduced to a hollow. Back when everything was too much and nothing was enough. Back when all he could do was be spoiled by a world that didn’t know any more than he did about how to be happy. 

He wanted, more than death, to be happy. 

He could be happy, now. If he tried. If he failed, and tried again, because luck couldn’t give him anything that mattered when what mattered was something he couldn’t name himself. 

Well. Donald would come soon, just as he’d come then. And he’d bring the kids. And that alone filled him with an emotion close to happiness, closer to desperation, furthest from this. From the walls around him, from the toad that took whatever form he felt and looked at him in every way Gladstone didn’t want him to. 

Scrooge was coming, too. That was weird. That was… well, Gladstone wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He wondered if he would show up, even now, and express his distaste for his luck as openly as ever. If Gladstone could tell him what was really going on, he’d maybe have a good laugh at that, now. 

But Gladstone couldn’t tell them, or risk them getting trapped with him. And they couldn’t find out, or it would have the same result. He couldn’t fail them. 

People always used Gladstone for his good luck, hoping to catch its benefits in their open arms and missing him when he tries to fall into them. Gladstone feels sick thinking about how he’s going to have to do the same to Donald’s bad luck. Will this be the final straw for him? Would it ruin everything between them? 

He couldn’t tell them. His heart plummets, falls and falls, and he stays standing. 

He waits. It takes less than a day before Liu Hai appears at his side. “They’re here.” 

Gladstone’s smile is almost real. “Then let's go say hi, shall we?” 

They all watch the House Of Fortune vanish from sight, Liu Hai with it, and Gladstone has to peel himself from where Donald came sailing from the casino and into his head at full speed. 

He dusts himself off. The kids are helping Donald up, and he pushes himself to his feet, unsure where to look himself. He was… he was free. And Donald was safe. And the kids, and Scrooge- it was done. 

He was _free._ He lets the knowledge melt into a sigh, and his knees crumple back down to the floor, the strength to stand seeped out of him. 

Scrooge stands over him. “I thought you were supposed to be lucky, lad. Doesn’t seem luck did you any fortune for you to have wound up as ya did,” Scrooge points out, tapping his knee with his cane as though to straighten him out, which Gladstone can’t help but laugh at. He can’t be mad. He can’t even be annoyed. He’s free- more than he’s felt in a long time. 

There’s no real answer he’s willing to give Scrooge, there. The old coot doesn’t know how his luck works- he’s never been there when Gladstone got into the situations he couldn’t get himself out of, no matter his luck, which never protected him from deliberation, from intent, which Liu Hai most certainly had, not to mention he could literally manipulate his luck to make it work for him and Gladstone alone would never have been enough to break free from it. His luck would ponder itself around like a barrier between him and what could hurt him- he’d never trip, never get sick, never get mud on his suit. He’d never get hurt by the world, because his luck would never hurt him, and his luck was his whole world- but it did not extend to the world of the people around him. Because, his luck never protected him from fists, or from talons, or shin kicks. His luck ran out the moment someone decided they had it out for him. 

Now, with him watching with scrutinizing eyes and readjusting his cane to properly hold his weight again, Gladstone can do nothing else but shrug and smile and finally push himself off the ground, which was cool to the touch and a blessing to be allowed to touch again. He wobbles slightly on the way up, but keeps himself steady enough. “Well, _I’d_ say it was lucky,” he gloats, slipping back into his usual persona, so comforting to be allowed again as opposed to the helplessness he felt when he couldn’t use it, “It let me see all of you again!” 

Scrooge’s eyes stay narrowed. To his surprise, it’s Donald, whom Gladstone hadn’t even realized was listening in, who pipes up. _“Why_ didn’t you tell us right away what was happening? You could have gotten us all trapped in there with you!” 

Gladstone blinks. Though the question feels pointed, its a change in topic, one he’s willing to latch onto. Besides, he can’t really blame him. He’d told him something was wrong- after last time something was wrong, it was understandable (though somehow, still strange) to Gladstone that, when he’d lied and said he just missed them, Donald was upset. Exasperated. Annoyed. He probably gave the poor duck a busload of stress for a reason that could have been explained if he could get it around Liu Hai, but there was no point in explaining that to Donald, since Liu Hai himself had told them in the casino. “Well, if I _told_ you, then your bad luck might not have worked the way it's supposed to, and if Liu Hai found out he would have just kept you all in there with me,” he explains carefully. 

Donald’s anger falters. “What do you mean, my luck wouldn’t have worked the way it was supposed to?” 

Gladstone wants to take a step closer to him, but he doesn’t trust his legs to not give out. “When your aware of it, sometimes it turns into determination, and that wins out, because you’re more than your bad luck! And while that’s very admirable,” he adds quickly at Donald’s _I’m losing patience_ glare, “it might not have solved any of my problems.” 

Donald huffs. “I didn’t realize you knew how my bad luck worked,” he pouts, quite literally _pouts,_ and it's the most Donald Duck thing to do. It makes Gladstone’s smile feel a little more solid on his bill. 

He straightens his tie to look busy as he says, “Ya, well, if I didn’t I wouldn’t have been able to come up with a plan surrounding it.” 

It’s not intentional, but he can't help it when his gaze lands at the vacant space where the casino once was. He shivers, and adds with cheerful rigor that doesn’t match the cold he feels staring back at it, “and good riddance to that place! Ugh, I’m going on a casino cleanse.” 

Huey tugs at the edge of his coat, dragging his attention back to the family of ducks around him. He lets out a hum at the kid, who stares from the empty space back at him and asks curiously, “so, how long were you trapped in there, then? If the entire place was feeding off of your luck, I can only imagine it gets bigger and busier the longer you stayed, and it was already quite large when we got there.” 

Gladstone’s hand tightens around his tie. 

He tries to only look surprised by the question rather than absolutely stricken- he doesn’t know. He can’t say that. Time felt weird in there- it would be a disservice to his many fitful nights to say he wasn’t in there very long, but he honestly wasn’t sure how long it really was. He was already too much of _something_ in their eyes. Too arrogant, too cocky, too lazy, too _lucky-_ he couldn’t add ‘stupid’ to that list. For all he knew, it was already up there. At the very least, he wasn’t going to _add_ to the list of reasons why Cousin Gladstone doesn’t deserve a call at Christmas time. 

He releases his tie calmly and drops down to the kid’s height, his knees wobbling a little with the motion, and lifts his hand so he can ruffle the fluff underneath a bright red cap. He stops himself short of the motion, stuck by the thought of Liu Hai doing the same to him, and instead just rests his hands on his knees. After a moment, he says smoothly, “smart lad!” he tilts his head up, “You raised ‘em to the book, ey Donnie?” 

“Donnie?” Laughs Dewey. “You call him Donnie?” 

Bingo. Just his luck that one of the kids would offer such an easy switch. “If he’s lookin’ like a Donnie, then that's the name he’s going by so long as I’m around!” 

Dewey nudges the girl next to him. “Oh, I’m so gonna start calling him Uncle Donnie,” he whispers incredibly loudly to her. 

Donald lets out a _pah,_ but to Gladstone’s surprise, he isn’t looking at either of them. He’s staring at the space where The House Of Fortune was, head turned so Gladstone can’t see his expression. Gladstone watches him for a moment before deciding not to poke the bear and turning his attention back to the kids. “Oh, he’ll love that. Don’t use it too often though, it’ll remind him of me and once I’m out of your feathers he might even starts to realize he actually misses me and maybe even start crying inconsolably,” he hums, pretending to sound thoughtful. It makes the Dewey laugh again, and the little girl (there were only three eggs, right?) looks amused. Huey looks like he’s concentrating on doing math in his head for how weirdly focused his gaze is, though it manages to land just past Gladstones head.

Louie looks fairly annoyed. 

Oh. Right. He’d told the kid he didn’t need him, and then left him. Selfish, familiar, desperate words that should never be directed at a child. Well, he doesn’t blame the duckling for being upset with him over that- he’d been panicking, and didn’t know what else to do. He had to make sure Donald didn’t leave. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what would have happened if he had. 

(Probably the same thing that’s been happening since he first got enslaved. Tired, tired, tired luck. Would it have killed him, eventually, or did he have enough of it to go around that he’d have lived forever?)

Still. He doesn’t know if the kid holds a grudge like Donald, and figures for good measure he’d try to make amends. Their pilot was going to show up soon, and he probably didn’t have a lot of time. He pushes himself up again, getting harder to do by the second, and shuffles closer to Louie, ducking a little to gently nudge him with his knee- the kid still doesn’t look at him. He sighs. 

“Hey Lou-ster,” he starts flippantly, “sorry for snapping earlier. Was having a bit of a panic attack at the thought of Donald-” _leaveing me behind_ “-heading out. Doesn’t make it right to get in a tizzy at ya, I know.” 

Louie gives him a quick side glance before looking away again. “Whatever. That frog was a creep anyway, Uncle Gladstone.” 

“Hah! That he was. That he was.”

Their ride shows up shortly after that. The kids start talking amongst themselves, _great, let's get out of here, so happy to see you, Launchpad, what are you wearing, Launchpad, I need a shower,_ but Donald and Scrooge stand by him. 

“Got anywhere to be, lad?” Scrooge asks. 

Gladstone thinks. “Depends. What day is it?” 

“3rd of August.” 

_August._ It was February when he’d first entered the hotel. So… seven-ish months, he’d spent _seven-ish_ months in there. Well, Huey was right. That explains how the building managed to get so big, especially from the inside. His mind files that deep down and under some things before he laughs. “Well, my hotel stay is long since run over, so I’d say nowhere other than to check into another.” 

Scrooge _tsks_. “Nay, you’ll be flying back with us. We’ll take you back to your place in Maldew.” 

“You… know where I live?” 

“Of course! I know where every Duck lives, and a Gander is no different.” 

Gladstone isn’t sure what to say to that. Weirdly, his first wonder of that is if he’d been evicted by now. Could the bank even take it back without first getting into contact with him? Honestly, he had no idea. Did they even notice he was gone? Maybe he was lucky enough to have slipped under their radar. Maybe.

He wonders if he should say as such. He figures he probably should, before everyone boarded the plane. He didn’t want to say it in front of the kids. “Well, ah. Um, I haven’t been paying the house off during my time here. So… as for if I still have one is up in the air, I guess?” 

Scrooge considers this. “No matter. I’ll get that sorted out for you after you spend the night at McDuck manor with me and the kiddies. And your cousin Donald, too.” 

That hits him like a freight train. “Really?” he exclaims, completely taken off guard by the offer. Was Scrooge McDuck, Mr. I-Earned-Everything-And-Take-Nothing, really offering him a hand-out? It’s almost silly to comprehend, and he laughs off his startlement, confident he’d understood wrong. “Yano, you doing that for me would be considered lucky. You might wanna think again.” 

Scrooge looks a bit surprised at him, too, though he can’t fathom why. After all, if Scrooge knew where he lived but didn’t even notice he was _gone,_ or even try to reach out at all, then why _would_ he care? And why on earth did Donald and the kids stay with him- what happened to the boat? What happened to their fight? 

What happened to them? 

_How much have I missed?_

The old duck sighs. “Lad, I’ve no idea as to how long ye were trapped inside that ravenous hell-hole of prizes and _grooming,_ but now that you’re out you ‘ad best believe that family is about more than just giving and taking.” 

He doesn’t wait for Gladstone to close his bill as he continues. “Now, I’m getting on that plane. It’s a while a ride away back to Duckberg, and I’m sure the kids’ll sleep the entire flight. We can talk more while they do. You can come if you’d like, or you can stay here and wither.” 

Gladstone bristles at that. “I can take care of myself.” 

“I know that, lad, but you don’t always ‘ave to. Just come back to the manor for the night, or at least until we get your living space situated again, eh?” he taps him with his cane before marching up the contraption. Gladstone stays standing, fists clenched at his side. 

Donald puts his hand on his shoulder, and Gladstone can’t help but flinch. His cousin notices, and retracts his hand, and just before Gladstone can apologize, he says, “come on. You look like you could use some rest.” 

He sighs. The tension leaves his body, and his hands ruffle through his slicked-back headfeathers. “... ya, okay. A night wouldn’t hurt.” 

Donald lets him lean against his side on the way up the ramp without a word to it. 

  
  


The ducklings are all asleep. Well, Louie isn’t. He’s got his headphones in and is laying across the bench, playing on his phone. Dewey and the girl one (seriously, if Donald had told him who she was, he’d been way too distracted to hear it) were sleeping in a pile at the far end of the bench, and Huey is sleeping at the far corner of the bench, clutching a book like a teddy bear. It reminds him kind of of Fethry. 

He misses that guy. He’s probably still underwater. He’d have to make sure he checks in on him sometime- he was the one person in his life who had never made him feel at his worst, at one point or another. Fethry could talk for hours about bugs or coral reefs or just how pretty the sunlight reflected ocean water, and Gladstone would never be bored. 

He had his own little book like that. The Woodchucks. He wondered if Donald still had his- he never went himself, was always lucky enough to find a way out of it. Now, he can’t help but feel as though he’d missed out on something important, though it was stupid to feel that way _now,_ after so long. 

Donald must notice him staring. “Aren’t they cute when they’re sleeping?” 

He smiles. “They are. They turned out great, you know. Louie was interesting to hang around with.” 

“Oh?” says Donald. “Did he cause any trouble?” 

“No more than I caused him,” Gladstone laughs quietly. He doesn’t want to wake the three sleeping up. Louie was still bopping his head along to whatever was playing from his headphones, but he didn’t want to grab his attention, either. 

Donald nods. He looks pensive for a moment. “... hey, Gladstone? You didn’t answer Huey about how long you were in there for.”

He winces. “Yeah… yano, I don’t think I’m super up for talking about it, Donnie.” 

“Okay. That’s fine. But if you do want to talk-” 

“I know. I appreciate that. Maybe… maybe some other time, if you’re still willing to see me after all this is over.” 

Donald stares blankly for a moment before he looks angry, and yell-whispers, “why wouldn’t we want to see you after this? You-” he groans. “You always do this. Somehow, you turn every situation against yourself. Gladstone, we came to help because we love and care about you, even if you do act like a self-absorbed brat half the time-” Gladstone rolls his eyes playfully, trying to alleviate the tension, but Donald pushes on, “-you’re still family. And somewhere along the way you forgot that fights don’t end family.” 

Donald looks over to the cockpit of the plane, where Scrooge sits, snoozing away himself. They’d made a short pit-stop at a cricket or something, and he’d come back to crash in the passenger seat up at the cockpit like there was no point staying awake now that he’d seen it. 

Donald’s eyes wist over. “I did, too. And I- I never made that clear enough to you, so for that, I _am_ sorry.” 

The Gander sighs. “I just- I only called you because of your luck. I didn’t think anybody else would come. I thought- and I cannot believe how long it took me to think it,” he mumbles that last part under his breath, “-that your bad luck could get me out of there. But it didn’t. You did,” he slumps down against the bench a little more. “I used you.” 

“You needed me. There’s a difference, and it’s trivial. Of _course_ I still want to see you after this.” 

Gladstone blinks. His beak lifts a little at the edges, but he can’t bring himself to look up just yet. “Ya?” 

“Ya, ya dumb goose.” 

Quiet washes over them for a little while, after that. Gladstone notices Louie wipe his eyes a few times, still bopping his head, though Gladstone is doubtful if he’s still listening to music. 

He sighs. Pulling up what courage he has, he looks up, but Donald’s eyes are closed now, probably trying to get some rest as well. He swallows, almost hoping that means his words won't be heard. 

“February.” 

Donald, who’d been dozing off in the quiet, blinks sleepily. “Wha?” 

“Huey asked how long I’d been in there for. Well, since February,” he says, almost to himself. “Macaw is very nice that time of the year. I was wondering where the harsh breeze had gone the moment the building buzzed off. Crazy how that works out, hey?” 

The duck frowns. Frowns, then scowls. Then, he looks downright furious, hands clenched to the side of the bench in a death-grip so familiar. 

Gladstone turns his gaze away, waits for Donald to explode, for the kids to wake up and for everyone to know something he wants desperately to forget himself. 

He doesn’t explode. Instead, he gets up and makes his way around to him, freezing when he gets there. 

“Can I hug you?” 

For a moment, he wonders why he’d asked. Then, he remembers he’d flinched earlier, when he’d rested his hand on his shoulder like Liu Hai had done so many times. The small thought of care is almost too much. 

Gladstone gets up to make it easier and rolls his eyes to hide their sheen, and Donald nearly tackles him back into the seat.

**Author's Note:**

> My insta and tumblr are both @ dasicality if anybody wants to go "f" at me through multimedia platforming


End file.
